


War Games

by nonelvis



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: M/M, sparring leading to ... other things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-21 10:50:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13739322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonelvis/pseuds/nonelvis
Summary: War games were necessary. And Tyler had to admit that he was growing attached to the time he and Lorca spent in the simulator; one-on-one time with the captain almost no other crew member could claim.





	War Games

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WritinRedhead](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritinRedhead/gifts).



> Written for WritinRedhead, who requested Lorca/Tyler where Tyler was not a Klingon. Many thanks to Lizbee for her last-minute beta services.

“War games,” Lorca called these little holographic adventures, as if war were a game to anyone. Though the holographic simulator was little more than a whiz-bang version of the virtual reality arcades Tyler had frequented as a kid – smoother graphics, higher-end weaponry, yes, and the floor was dramatically less sticky, the kind of improvement that only came with Starfleet discipline instead of an apathetic teen workforce – but in another, simpler life, Tyler might still be meeting his old high school teammates there for a few rounds of Capture the Flag.

Now, he was killing simulated Klingons. That brought an edge of terror beating the opposing school’s team never had.

Lorca liked to keep them both sharp. They didn’t drill every day, but two or three times a week, the captain would contact him, ask Tyler if he wanted to blow off some steam. And the thing of it was, as hard as it had been to find his footing after surviving the Battle of the Binary Stars, Tyler welcomed the challenge. An hour of subterfuge — could they track an enemy in unfamiliar corridors, across a desert, through a tangle of jungle green? — or an hour of designing tactics to survive being pinned down by overwhelming numbers, finding the loopholes in enemy strategy that would allow them to last long enough for the computer’s programmed reinforcements to arrive. Those were the hardest scenarios, the ones that triggered Tyler’s memories of squeezing into escape pods with his anxious crewmates, the relief at being scooped up, the subsequent horror at discovering who his rescuers were.

But war games were necessary. And Tyler had to admit that he was growing attached to the time he and Lorca spent in the simulator; one-on-one time with the captain possibly no other crew member could claim except for Burnham. 

An hour in the dark, side-by-side with Lorca, dependent on each other for survival.

Tyler wondered if the captain could guess what else had happened in those arcades sometimes. Why Tyler had hesitated half a second before first agreeing the sessions made good tactical sense. Why the scents of ionized particles and sweat not even Starfleet’s industrial air scrubbers could fully remove also triggered memories of a very different sort of anticipation.

“Listen,” Lorca said. The simulated emergency lighting painted an orange streak across his face and emphasized the sharp jut of his jawline. “Can you hear that? Boots on metal, too heavy. There’s two of them walking in sync so they sound like one.”

Tyler closed his eyes, blocked out the light, filtered the hiss of the steam pipe they were crouched behind. “Three,” he said. “One’s just a little out of step with the other two. But they’re getting closer ... I estimate less than thirty seconds to intercept. I’ll slide over to the other side of the corridor. We should be able to get the drop on them.”

 _Step. Step. Step._ Tyler breathed as shallowly as he could. Lorca seemed not to breathe at all and was perfectly silent, as if he’d been raised to hunt Klingons and had long since perfected the art.

Together, Tyler and Lorca met the Klingons with phaser rifle bursts coordinated the way they’d practiced in session after session. The two they’d attacked fired back, but were down quickly enough from the ambush that all Tyler had to do was step over the bodies before the computer redrew the floor without them. 

The third one, however, had the drop on Lorca. They were fighting hand-to-hand now, and Lorca was landing solid punches; he was simply outweighed by a soldier with half a foot and fifty pounds of muscle on him. Tyler moved in. A rifle butt to the Klingon’s head, a kick from Lorca that would have gotten him disqualified from those Capture the Flag competitions, and the Klingon staggered to his knees, giving Tyler enough of an opening for a final phaser blast.

Now, back into the dark corner, wait for the atmosphere to subside, wait for his body to come back under his control again. In this light, Lorca couldn’t see him below the waist anyway.

“Computer, end simulation,” said Lorca, each word punctuated with a breath. “Well. Guess I needed a workout.”

“Are you okay, sir?”

“I’m fine except for my dignity, Mr. Tyler, but I’ll get over it.”

“Still, sir, let me walk you to your quarters.”

“All right. We can use the time to go over how to refine the two-man team scenario.”

* * *

It was a slow walk. What if they’d only had knives instead of phaser rifles? What if they’d been completely unarmed? So much theory and so little time to test it before the inevitable point they or someone else would have to put it into practice.

“You up for another run later this week, Tyler?” Lorca said when they arrived at his quarters.

“You know it, sir.”

Lorca’s hand rested lightly above the entry pad. “Mr. Tyler. There’s something else to discuss while you’re here.”

“What’s that, sir?”

“Come on, Tyler. You think I haven’t noticed? You think you’re the first crewman to find these simulations ... exciting?”

“Sir ... I ...”

“Look,” Lorca said, and leaned in close enough to him that Tyler could smell him, that prickly ionized particle scent, like the crackle of ozone. “I am fully aware I am your commanding officer. I am fully aware how incredibly inappropriate this suggestion is, and I am fully aware that you can and should walk away from me on the double and report me to Starfleet. So I encourage you to do that before I open this door, and you walk through it on your own, and then we very, very thoroughly fuck each others’ brains out.”

Tyler swallowed. Lorca was still so close to him, and his voice so low, and the scent of him so utterly maddening. “I’m going to walk away now, sir,” he finally said.

“Good, Lieutenant. I would expect nothing less.”

The door slid open.

Lorca paused.

And Tyler walked in.

* * *

Lorca moved more quickly than he ever did in the simulations. Tyler, flat against the wall, his tongue in Lorca’s mouth and his hands scrambling to remove Lorca’s top. Lorca, one hand gripping the back of Tyler’s head, the other pressing below Tyler’s waist, sliding down, down, then up and into his trouser waistband. Tyler gasped, moaned into Lorca’s mouth, kissed him harder. The fumbles with his teammates had always been swift, furtive, a mutual release as they hid behind the largest barrier they could find. 

This encounter promised to be no less swift, and would ultimately have to be kept as quiet as he’d kept those teenage flings, but there was no hiding in the dark now, where sometimes he wasn’t even sure which teammate he’d chosen. Lorca was here, entirely present, his lips at Tyler’s neck and his hands slipping Tyler’s trousers and underwear down as far as he could reach. His stubble scraped Tyler’s chest as Lorca pressed his way under Tyler’s shirt, and Tyler found himself urging Lorca downwards with his hands.

Lorca took him in. And his mouth was slow and warm and a jolt of pleasure all along Tyler’s body, and Tyler knew this was all they’d ever have, this moment and maybe, if he was lucky, a few others, but it would do for now.

He closed his eyes and bit his lip. And he drifted away under Lorca’s touch.


End file.
